A Past Life? Or Present?
by Prussianess
Summary: Almost every Nation knows that they could die, they know that the dead come back to life as human, they know that they become a Nation again after remembering who they are. Who are these 'other' Nations that want them gone so badly? How can the dead Nations fight them when they don't even know who they are? 2Ps, all warnings inside. Discontinued, details on last chapter.
1. A Vivid Dream: America

**AN: So...this is my first story! I hope you enjoy it~**

**Warning: Character death (duh), Romano's ranbow coated vocabulary, 2P Characters, blood/violence, Plot Bunnies are vicious, and don't eat Englands scones. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters. I only own this story. **

**And seriously, if I owned Hetalia, why would I write fanfiction? **

* * *

He had another dream. A vivid one. Like always. For the past two months Alfred F. Jones has been having weird dreams, they were never one thing. It was always a slide show of images or . . . memories? He wasn't sure. Alfred knew that he has never seen these people before, and yet, they felt familiar. He felt like he belonged with them. The dream went like this; a small Alfred was running across a field to a young man with outstretched arms.

He had unruly light blonde hair, bright eyes that were an unearthly shade of forest green, and the bushiest eyebrows Alfred had ever seen. Alfred was taking his sweet running to the other person who eventually yelled, "America! We have to go home!" The man had a thick English accent. It almost sounded as if someone had mixed all of the English accents into one. It was impossible to not detect the utter happiness in his voice. Alfred—or was it America?—giggled childishly before speeding up. But right before Alfred—or America?—reached the man's outstretched arms, the scene melted away and reformed.

They were both standing in the same field, but they were both older. The English man only looked a year older but America—Alfred?—aged dramatically. In the last scene America—Alfred?—was, at most, six. But now he was at least six-teen. The English man still looked around twenty. The English man was wearing a Revolutionary War British Red Coat uniform while America—Alfred?—was wearing a Colonial uniform. They stood a good fifty feet away from each other, musket and bayonet trained at each other respectively. The once bright, happy, forest green eyes were now glazed over with sadness and worry. America—Alfred?—glared fiercely at the Englishman, his bright cornflower blue eyes were now darkened with a seriousness that no boy his age should hold.

"England, the things you have done to my people are unforgivable. I am no longer your colony, nor your little brother. I am America, and from now on I'm independent!" The Englishman—England—looked at America—Alfred?—with utter sadness for a split second before his teeth gritted and eyebrows furrowed (making them look even more like a furry caterpillar decided to fall asleep above his eyes) with rage. His body tensed his eyes clenched shut, and his face screwed together in concentration. England tried to hold in his anger, but to no avail. He exploded.

"I WON'T ALLOW IT!" England yelled and rushed at America—Alfred?—who only had enough time to put his musket in front of him defensively. There was a loud clatter as the musket fell to the wet ground a few feet away. England had his bayonet pointed at America's—Alfred's?—face. England panted heavily while America—Alfred?—looked at him in panicked shock before wiping all emotion from his face. England at him glared at each other for a minute or two.

Then, suddenly, England lowered the bayonet. America—America, not Alfred—looked at him in shock. England looked at him, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

"Do you really think I could shoot you? Y-you idiot!" England collapsed on to his knees, his whole body shaking from silent sobs. "D-damn it, why? It's j-just not fair!" America's shock melted away and a small depression settled in. The scene melted away and reformed.

A now eight-teen year old America was standing with a relatively unchanged England. The only difference was that they were both wearing WWII style military uniforms and America had glasses. America's uniform was tan with a bomber jacket over it, and England's was a dark green. They were in a large tent with a blackboard that had battle strategies written on it. England had a pointer stick and was pointing at the different pictures on the board while talking. There was an obvious tension between the two.

"Okay then," England began. "We will move our forces over the—" Then suddenly a large star burst into the tent, imbedding itself into the side of England's head. The look of absolute shock was present on his face. America had a different reaction, however.

"Hahahahaha! ENGLAND GOT A STAR STUCK IN HIS HEAD, THAT'S SO BAD-ASS!" The scene melted away and reformed.

An unchanged America and England were sitting in a room with three other people. One of them was a man with chin length wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, and stubble. He was dressed . . . _flamboyantly_ to say the least; a dark (but still bright) blue trench-coat like uniform with red pants and an equally as blue cape. He sat hunched over, chin resting in his palm, with a slightly zoned out expression on his face. His other hand moved slowly, as if on its own accord, to England who was sitting next to him. Without looking at the man, England smacked him—rather hardly—upside the head.

"Bloody Frog." England muttered angrily. The man looked at England with a fake expression of hurt on his face, hand over his heart.

"You wound me, Angleterre!" He said overdramatically, revealing a _very_ French accent.

"Belt it, Frog."

As this was going on a tall, mountain of a man was busy scaring the crap out of an Asian . . . man? Woman? Who knows? The tall—large—man had a surprisingly child like face with ashy-blonde hair, bright purple eyes, and an innocent smile. The only thing that really stood out was his prominent nose. He wore a tan winter coat-like uniform with brown accents, a beige scarf, and brown gloves. He scooted closer to the Asian man/woman and his appearance suddenly changed. His purple eyes were no longer bright, but menacing. His smile was no longer innocent, it was just plain _creepy_. He had an intimidating aura around him that was so thick you can _see_ it. Who knew that the color _purple_ could be so scary?

The man/woman next to him shuddered. He/she had long, dark brown—almost black—hair tied into a ponytail with bangs framing the sides of his/her face. He/she wore a dark green uniform with a red armband with a white star on it. Bandage like wrapping were around his/her wrists and ankles. He/she was doodling a picture of a panda, trying to ignore the stares of the man sitting next to him/her. Finally he/she couldn't take it anymore.

"What the hell do you want, aru?" The _man _snapped, revealing a Chinese accent. His voice was feminine but still masculine enough for someone to tell he's male. The other man grinned creepily. The Chinese man couldn't help but shudder.

"I was just wondering how China was doing~!" The man said in a creepily innocent voice that revealed a Russian accent.

"I'm doing fine, aru." China said stiffly. "Now leave me alone, aru."

"Nope~!" The Russian man said, scooting even closer to the poor Chinese man.

"_Aiya_!" China shuddered violently at the close contact.

As this was going on, America sat at the head of the table. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He combed one of his hands through his already messy wheat colored hair, his cowlick still sticking up defiantly.

"How about we continue this meeting?" He asked/demanded in his loud obnoxious voice.

"Humph, well do _you_ have any ideas?" England asked irritably while punching the Frenchie again.

"Of course!" America beamed, he stood up. "England," He pointed at said irritated Brit. "You back me up! France" He pointed at said pervert. "You back me up! China," He pointed at said freaked out Chinese man. "You back me up! Russia," He looked at said creepy Russian who was still smiling innocently. "You have the most important job! You'll back me up!" America grinned confidently. Russia raised his hand.

"Um, so what are you going to do?" He asked in his innocently creepy voice.

"I'll do what I always do!" America said, he jabbed a thumb towards himself and beamed. "I'LL BE THE HERO!"

The scene melted.

Before it could reform, Alfred F. Jones snapped his eyes open. He was pale, shaking and sweaty. He groaned.

Today was _not _going to be a good day.

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**AN: Please review, i love getting feedback! Tell me if you loved it or hated it or if i made any mistakes^^ I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my story! This isn't the first Fanfiction i've written, but it's the first one i have had enough courage to actually post. I came up with the idea during a car ride and i wrote most of the chapter while waiting in line at a restraunt (i know i spelt that wrong . . . i have a feeling). :D I hope i didnt depress you guys or anything because when i showed this to my best Hetalian friend she said that she'd kill me if i made more sad stuff. T^T i fear for my life. **

**I typed this up while listening to a song called Innocent Days by Heroicplights on Youtube. It fit so well! I love you all~**

**Stay as awesome as Prussia! -Prussianess**


	2. A Vivid Dream: Prussia

**PLEASE FORGIVE ME TAKING SO LONG! This chapter took forever to write, but i'm proud of how it turned out :) **

**Enjoy the awesomeness that is Prussia! :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. If i did, it would be centered around the Bad Touch Trio**

* * *

When he slept, he remembered. He lived his whole life feeling like he was forgetting something, he just didn't know what. But when he slept, that feeling disappeared. He was remembering, he just didn't know _what._

Gilbert Beilschmidt has always been written off as odd; with his deathly pale skin tone, white hair, and dark ruby colored eyes. He didn't care what they thought, he was awesome. He made sure everybody knew it.

But in his dreams he felt like everyone already _knew_ how awesome he was. That he belonged with them. That, to them, he wasn't just some strange albino that they had to put up with. To them, he was _him._

The dreams usually start with a brunette boy.

* * *

A small Gilbert was sitting alone in a field; he was dressed in white robes with a black cross design. He sat crossed-legged, arms at his side, eyes closed in concentration. A small, bright yellow canary flew up to the lone child and landed on his shoulder. Gilbert cracked one eye open, revealing dark ruby irises. He cupped both of his hands and the small bird flew into them, the bird tweeted contently. Gilbert smiled.

"So the game has begun." He said to himself. He lifted his hands to his head; the bird hopped onto his head and made a nest out of hair. Gilbert laughed; he pulled out his sword and dramatically pointed it to the sky. He yelled towards the sky, "The Awesome Me is going to find you!" He laughed a raspy laugh and started running towards nothing in particular.

Twenty minutes of searching did nothing. But Gilbert wouldn't give up; he was too awesome for that. He stood in a small flower patch for a few minutes, observing, looking for the slightest spot of discoloration. Gilbert smirked when he spotted a small patch of green in the flowers that didn't match the stems and leaves. '_I found you~' _he thought evilly.

Gilbert snuck up to the boy, careful not to make any noise. When he was successfully standing over the hiding boy, he took out his sword and pinned the edge of the boy's clothing into the dirt. A small head shot out from the grass, revealing long brown hair tied into a messy ponytail and emerald green eyes. The eyes were wide as the brunette looked around frantically, when he caught sight of the smirking Gilbert his expression morphed into a scowl.

"Damn it . . ." The boy cursed. Gilbert laughed.

"Kesese, you should've seen the look on your face!" He walked in front of the boy and bent down, smirking. "I win."

"Coward! If you were brave you would've let me fight!"

"I'm not a coward; I'm just smart and awesome." As Gilbert started to gloat and rant about how he was the 'King of Awesome' he didn't notice how the boy's hand now gripped his ankle. "The Teutonic Knights will kick your ass any day!" The boy tugged on Gilbert ankle, sending him to the ground. The boy laughed.

"And Hungary would bring your ass down with me." The scene melted away and reformed.

* * *

A now grown up Gilbert was sitting at desk writing. He was smirking to himself as the quill moved swiftly across the parchment. He signed the letter with a flourish, and sat back in his chair putting his arms behind his head. Then he quickly sat up again and quickly added a new line to his letter. He smirked.

"Perfect." He said to himself. "Hey! Old Man! I finished the letter!" He yelled towards the general direction of the door. An older man walked through the door. He had light blonde hair, blue eyes, and a kind smile.

"You finished it already, _Preussen_?" The man asked, slight disbelief in his voice. Gilbert—or Prussia? Yeah, Prussia was awesome enough for him—rolled his eyes.

"_Ja_! And it's overflowing with my awesomeness! Just read it!" Smiling, Prussia handed the letter to the man. The man cleared his throat before reading the letter out loud.

"_Hello little girl! I am Prussia and you are not. My awesomeness is exploding at an alarming rate, even for someone as awesome as the Great Prussia! So yeah, super happy lala for your inauguration, but I'm afraid we accept it no more than dried squirrel poop. Anyway, I will bother you no longer if you hand over all of Austria's Silesia region (it's pronounced 'Silesia' right?). Otherwise my armies will attack you with awesomeness and completely destroy you~ From Prussia, with love. PS I AM AWESOME!" _The old man looked up at Prussia, who was currently snickering.

"Really Prussia? Really?" The man asked, slightly exasperated.

"What? The letter is awesome and it gets the point across in an awesome way!"

"_Mein Gott_, I'm in charge of a five year old." Prussia stuck his tongue out at his apparent boss.

"C'mon Fritz. We all know that Austria's going to take it seriously! Why would I need to make the letter all boring and stuff anyway?" The old man—Fritz apparently—sighed.

"Fine. Send it."

"YES!" Prussia fist-pumped. "GILBIRD! Your awesome leader summons you!" The small, yellow canary flew into the room.

"Piyo?" The bird tilted its head. Prussia laughed.

"Exactly! Now, I need you to deliver this awesome letter to the unawesome Austria and his equally as unawesome Arch-Duchess." Prussia rolled up the letter into a small scroll, unrolled it, drew a chibi drawing of him standing on top of Austria, rerolled it, and gave it to the waiting Gilbird.

"Piyo!" The bird flew away, quickly fading into the distance. The scene melted away and reformed.

* * *

A slightly younger Prussia was walking calmly up to a mansion. Or, at least he looked calm on the outside. On the inside he was extremely nervous. This was the first time he visited Hungary since the . . . _incident_ last week. Of course Prussia knew that Hungary was a girl for some time, but she was still having trouble excepting it. After the . . . _incident_ she was saying how she had her suspicions since her physical strength and stamina wasn't as high as the others. Of course Prussia knew that that wasn't true. Have you ever been in a fight with Hungary? Don't. You'll get your ass handed to you in three seconds. Then, she scared him by saying that it was time for her to become meek. When she said that he just gave her his robe and walked away. He tried to act cool, but in reality be was torn up inside. Just because she knew now, without a doubt, that she was a girl, it didn't mean that she had to change.

Prussia sighed as he pushed the thoughts out of his head. It wasn't like she'll actually change. Trying to get Hungary to be more lady-like is like trying to get Prussia to be less narcissistic. It's not happening. He once again pushed the thoughts out of his head as he snuck into Austria's backyard. He was met with the sight of Hungary. In a dress. With a broom. _Cleaning. _

'_Mein Gott, she was serious.'_ Was the only though that ran through Prussia head. He shook his head, trying to compose himself. He walked into the backyard.

"Hey, what are you doing wearing women's clothing?! C'mon let's go hunting! Hunting!" Prussia yelled, waving his arms around like an idiot. Hungary stiffened. She turned around slowly, hands shaking, face twitching. It was clear that she was at war with herself.

"N-no, I'm not into that kind of stuff anymore." That's what she said, but when Prussia looked into her eyes, he could tell that she wanted to go. Prussia stood there, waiting for her to snap and come with him. She didn't. "P-please go away." She said.

Hurt, shock, and disbelief. Those emotions flooded through him when she said that. All traces of his smile quickly fell from his face. He just stared at her in disbelief before turning around and walking away. As he walked away his deep frown turned into a neutral expression. The Hungary he knew was long gone. The scene melted away and reformed.

* * *

Prussia was at what looked like a party. Considering the fact that there was a TV and that someone had an iPod plugged into a speaker, the party was set in modern day. Prussia was standing by a table, examining the contents as he drank the beer in his hand. There were snacks from every country strewn about the table. He honestly didn't care about the food. He was just . . . _bored_. He tried to mess with Austria, but was rewarding with a frying pan to the head courtesy of Hungary. As he was examining the food, he absent-mindedly noticed a food that wasn't even touched. Curiously, he looked at the label next to the plate.

**Scones: Eat at your own risk**

They looked like coal. Was it even food? Now he was curious. He tentatively reached out a hand to grab the coal—I mean—_scone_. Prussia had no idea why he even wanted to try the stuff, he blamed the alcohol. Suddenly a hand shot out of nowhere and gripped Prussia's hand tightly. Prussia's head snapped up to see a concerned and slightly frightened man with glasses.

"Dude, I _really _don't think you should eat those." Prussia noted the American accent and how he had _much_ more strength than a regular person.

"Hm? Why not?"

"Iggy's cooking is really—"He was cut off by a short and _very _angry man.

"America! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" The angry Brit pried America's hand off of the confused Prussian. "My cooking is wonderful, thank you very much!" Pretty soon an all out fight broke out. Prussia, choosing to ignore what happened, grabbed a scone. He bit into it and instantly grimaced. It tasted like petrified couch stuffing. A quick glance around the room showed that everyone was staring at him, so he couldn't very well spit it out. He'd look like an idiot. He swallowed the—food?—with great difficulty.

"So? What do you think?" The Brit asked, eyes sparkling with excitement. Prussia opened his mouth to speak. But before he was able to, he fainted. Everyone rushed over to the fallen ex-nation, that is, everyone except England, who was confused, and Hungary, who was too horrified to move. The scene melted away.

* * *

Gilbert Beilschmidt snapped his eyes open, wincing slightly at the sunlight coming through the window. He threw his covers off and walked towards the window. He opened it fully and stared at the neighborhood.

"Prussia, huh?" He asked, trying out the foreign word. He smiled; the word had a certain feeling of _right _to it.

From that day forward he started calling himself Prussian instead of German. Needless to say, people were confused.

* * *

**AN: ****Please review. Reviews are food for my imagination and motivation. With out them, they die. Tell me what you liked about this chapter and if i made any mistakes. Also, i plan on doing dream sequences for two more characters before actually moving on with the plot. Please suggest any characters to use because i have no idea what im gonna do.**

**Fun Fact! Written while listening to Vocaloid and eating jelly beans. Wow. I am so surpised at myself. I never expected this to be so long and slightly depresing. Any way, im so sorry that this took so long, i had writters block half way through the story. I had to put it down for three days before inspiration hit me like a train. Anyways, thank you to all of the people who like/favorited/reviewed/viewed. It makes me feel so happy and fuzzy inside that people actually like my story. :') i love you all so much. **

**Stay as awesome as Prussia**

**Prussianess.**


	3. A Vivid Dream: Lithuania

**AN: IM SO SORRY! T^T I didnt mean to put off this chapter for so long! D: **

**Anywho~ this is officially my longest chapter! ^^ 2k+ words! Arent you guys proud? :D no? fine . . . :( **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. If i did, who knows what might happen? **

* * *

Toris Laurinaitis always knew that he was different. He's always been more mature; wiser than everyone else. He's always been quiet, calm . . . depressed. He's always been nervous. He's constantly looking over his shoulder, as if he's expecting to see someone watching him. He's always had deep scars running across his back, even though nobody had an explanation as to where he got them. He had always perked up at the mention of the county Poland, has always started shaking whenever Russia is mentioned, and always became depressed whenever someone mentions Estonia or Latvia. He has also always had an 'irrational' fear of faucet pipes. People dismissed these as 'personality quirks'. Toris knew better.

He knew that these feelings were justified. He just didn't really know _how_. He thought that the answer was in his dreams. The problem was, he never remembered what he was dreaming about. How convenient.

* * *

A small Toris was walking down a snow covered bridge. He was dressed in heavy winter clothes and had a fluffy dog walking next to him. Snowflakes fell lazily to the ground and a light wind blew his shoulder length brown hair into his face. He looked around at the snow covered landscape and sighed.

"It snowed today, it snowed yesterday, and it snowed the day before that . . . " He said to himself in a soft voice. He turned his head towards the dog following him. "Did you know that there are places further south where flowers bloom all year?" The dog barked. Toris smiled softly. He was about to say something else when he heard a noise. It was the sound of snow crunching underneath a boot, but it wasn't him. Toris looked up to see a lone figure standing at the edge of a snow covered forest.

It was a small boy; he was maybe around Toris' age. He had slightly tangled ashy-blonde hair and dirt covered pale skin. He wore a red undercoat that was showing through his tattered, tan overcoat, his tattered beige scarf was blowing in the wind. The boy stood there calmly, his eyes were closed and both of his hands were clasped together. When Toris looked closer he saw that there were pink blotches on his hands, an early sign of frostbite. The boy opened his eyes, revealing bright violet irises. He smiled shyly.

"G-good day." He said in a soft, innocent voice. Toris' dog started barking like crazy. Toris didn't notice this though; all of his attention was on the mysterious boy.

"Who . . . who are . . .? What's wrong? You'll freeze if you keep standing the—"He was cut off.

"Your dog is really cute!" The boy exclaimed happily. That's when Toris noticed the rabid-fire barking of the dog.

"O-Oh! I'm so sorry. He's usually a very nice and quiet dog . . ." Toris bent down to the dog's level and put a finger to his mouth and shushed it. The dog stopped barking immediately and whimpered. Toris hugged it close. "So, are you . . ." The words died in his mouth. What is he wasn't one? If he was human it would be hard to explain . . . but he had that kind of 'aura' to him. Toris decided to take a chance. ". . . a nation too?" The mysterious boy closed his eyes and smiled.

"Yes, I am." For the expression, his voice was surprisingly solemn. The smile slipped slightly from the boy's face. "But with living under the Tartar's rule, it's hard to get by every day . . ." Toris stood up and gave the boy a look of pity. 'So he's under Tartar's rule.'

"I see." The boy bowed his head, closed his eyes, and smiled softly. Both of his hands were placed over his heart.

"One day, I'm going to be a big and strong country." He looked up and beamed. "Then, I can become your friend~!" Toris was taken aback by the last statement.

"W-well, if you want to become friends, we can do that now—"

"_No!_" The boy folded his hands. "I still lack power . . ." He muttered. There was a period of silence between the two. Then the boy looked up and smiled again. "Well," He suddenly turned around and ran into the woods. "Bye-bye~!" The last words echoed eerily against the trees.

Toris suddenly found himself shaking uncontrollably.

"Who . . . who in the world was he . . .?" The dog walked in front of Toris and started to whimper. The scene melted away and reformed.

* * *

A now teenaged Toris was sitting by a cliff, laughing with another boy his age. The boy had straight, chin length, blonde hair, emerald green eyes, and a laid back expression.

"Hey, Liet, do you have, like, any interesting stories about your capital?" Toris—or Liet? As in Lithuania? Why does sound so _right_?—looked at the boy in confusion.

"My . . .capital?" He asked.

"Yeah, your capital! I find that if you ask people that you hear, like, totally interesting stories!"

"Well then . . . tell me a story about your place." The boy stiffened slightly, he looked horrified.

"Like, you just totally called me 'you'!" Lithuania was confused yet again.

"I-I can't? Well, how should I address you then?"

"HA!"

"Wah!" Lithuania jumped at the boy's sudden loudness. The boy beamed and pointed at Lithuania.

"You can call me 'Sir Polska' as much as you like!"

"Can't I just call you Poland?" Poland shook his head.

"Pol." Lithuania nodded slightly.

"Pol then. So about what we were talking about . . ." Poland's expression became somewhat serious.

"Well, here's a story from my capital." Poland acquired a slightly faraway look in his eyes. "In the large cave under the Cracow's castle, there was this really scary dragon. Since this dragon ate all sorts of things and raised havoc, a wise prince set out to kill the dragon. When he entered the cave . . ." Poland's serious expression melted away. "He totally came face-to-face with the dragon. Well, the dragon looked so super yucky that he thought, 'Seriously, no way!' He was like, 'I gotta kill it.'"

Lithuania listened with a slightly exasperated expression. 'This sounds like a funny story. I wonder if it's just me . . .' Then, Poland turned towards Lithuania.

"Well, after that, the prince used his wits and killed the dragon by making it eat sulfur and stuff like that. With this and that, out capital became peaceful, and the prince became our hero."

"I see, he sounds cool." Then he remembered that he had to tell a story. "Ah . . .! This is about my Boss from a while back." Lithuania acquired a faraway look to his eyes. "One day, Grand Duke Gediminas was hunting in a place called the Sacred Forest. And, that night he slept on the nearby hill and had a dream. It was a strange dream in which an iron wolf wearing armor was standing on a hilltop howling. According to a priest, it was a sign that that land was an iron wall that kept enemies away." The faraway look in Lithuania's eyes left. "So, based on that dream, he considered Valnius, the land of the iron wall, a place where our people could live in peace and made it the capital." He turned towards Poland. "It's a little romantic and . . .!" Lithuania stared at Poland in shock. He was lying in the grass, his legs swung upwards over his head.

"W-what are you doing?!" Lithuania stammered out.

"I was wondering if I can do this and, wow, I like, so totally can!"

"But were you listening to my story?"

"Yeah, but I forgot most of it." Lithuania stared at him, dumbfounded, and then he sighed. 'Are we really going to be okay?' The scene melted away and reformed.

* * *

An older Lithuania was lying in the snow with an older Poland. Both of them were bruised and battered. Poland was unconscious while Lithuania was barely holding on to the last bit of consciousness he had. His breath came out in hard pants, his body ached all over. With great difficulty, Lithuania managed to crack one eye open and look up. He saw a man; he was older than him and quite large. He was jumping around happily.

"Yay! Russia is the strongest country ever~!" His voice was familiar, but Lithuania had no idea where he could have heard it. He coughed involuntarily and Russia, as the figure called himself, stopped bouncing. He turned around, frowning in confusion. With a start, Lithuania realized who he was; he was the little boy that he met centuries ago. He had the same ashy-blonde hair and innocent violet eyes. As Russia moved closer, Lithuania noticed something different, his eyes. They were darker. If you didn't much attention they would still look innocent, but if you looked closer, you could see that the innocence was hiding something, something much more sinister. Russia was now standing over him, and Lithuania couldn't help but start shaking. Russia giggled a childish, innocent, _creepy_ giggle.

"You're awake?" He tilted his head, and then he smiled. "You must be strong." Russia knelt down next to Lithuania, who flinched. Russia giggled again. "I like you. So I'll let you stay in my house for a while." Lithuania was shocked to say the least. He didn't know what to say.

"R-really?" Russia smiled a bright, innocent smile.

"You lost so you have no choice in the matter." Russia then grabbed Lithuania's arm and pulled him up with him. He proceeded to drag him away. Lithuania froze, he looked back to see the still passed out Poland.

"N-no . . ." He whispered. He fought weakly against the large Nation's grip. "No." He said louder, he started to pull against the grip harder. "NO! I DON'T WANT TO GO!" He screamed. He thrashed against the man's grip. Russia didn't budge though, in fact, he had a slight smirk on his face. Like he found this entertaining. Lithuania continued to thrash though. "Pol? Pol!" Poland didn't even twitch. "POL, WAKE UP!" The slightest twitch gave Lithuania a small hope. "POLAND, PLEASE!" Poland's eye opened a crack.

"L-Liet . . .?" He whispered. His eyes widened when he saw what was happening. "LEIT!" He tried to get up, he collapsed. He struggled to get up, but his body wouldn't handle it. " . . . Liet . . ." He passed out again.

"P-Poland . . ." Lithuania choked out, he realized that he was crying. " . . . Please . . ." He was exhausted, his body ached, consciousness was slipping, and his heart felt like it was going to burst. He stopped fighting and let himself be dragged away. The scene melted away and reformed.

* * *

Lithuania was in a room with another man. Both of them were sitting against the wall; the younger had his head buried in his knees while Lithuania had a comforting hand on his shoulder. The younger was sobbing violently while Lithuania was crying silently. From somewhere inside the house, there came a scream of pain. The younger man's head snapped up, revealing bright blue eyes and slightly skewed glasses. His hair was messed up, tears streamed down his face, and his eyes were red from crying. He grounded his teeth together, pure loathing was in his eyes.

"I have to help him." He said getting up. He began to walk away when Lithuania grabbed his hand. He pulled himself off of the ground.

"You can't." The man pulled away from his grip.

"Well I am." Lithuania clamped both of his hands on the man's shoulders. He looked at him straight in the eyes with utter seriousness.

"Estonia." Estonia gulped. Lithuania was rarely like this. "If you try to help Latvia, it would only end up worse; for you _and _him. Remember when you tried to help me?" Estonia said nothing. "You were tortured too, and I had to stay and watch." Lithuania pulled up Estonia's sleeve. His arm was covered with ugly black and dark blue bruises that stood out against his pale skin. "He doesn't care. When he saw what he did," Lithuania's eyes flashed. "He just _giggled_ and commented on how the colors matched your flag." Lithuania and Estonia were both shaking now. "Do you want Latvia to see you in that much pain?" Estonia slowly shook his head. They both flinched when another painful scream filled the air. Only this time it was followed with Latvia's pleading.

"I-I'm s-sorry! I d-didn't mean to b-break it! P-please . . ." Another scream. Estonia stated shaking, tears spilled out of his eyes. He hugged Lithuania and cried into his shoulder. Lithuania hugged him back.

"It's okay." He whispered. "Someday, someday we will be able to escape this man." He was lying, they both knew that. They would never escape Russia. Russia is always there. Always watching. Nothing would change that. They'll just learn how to stand up to it. Sometimes lying to yourself helps you cope with the pain. The scene melted away, it didn't reform.

* * *

Toris' eyes snapped open. He slowly closed them again, wanting a few more minutes of precious sleep. He snapped his eyes back open immediately. When he closed his eyes, he saw an image clear as day. It was of a boy with straight, chin length, blonde hair, lazy green eyes, and a laid back expression.

"Poland . . ." He mumbled. Toris smiled. He had a feeling that today was going to be a good day.

* * *

**AN: ****I already started the next chapter and it'll (hopefully) be up this weekend. The lucky (or maybe not) Nation in the next chapter is, *drumroll* N. ITALY! :D Continue giving me suggestions on which countries i should write and please correct anything thats wrong. Reviews give birth to inspiration, inspiration gives birth to plot bunnies, and for every hundred plot bunnies a Flying Mint Bunny is born! ;3** thank you to all of the people who read/review/faved and/or followed this story! :D Hoped you liked this extremely depressing chappie~! :D I've noticed while writing this that i really like writing Russia and Poland ^^ they are so much fun to write! 

**I was listening to depresing music while writing this. Why? I dont know. I'm InSaNe ;3 (INsANiTY, like walking on air, PHyCOpAThy, a careless way to live, INsANiTY, not knowing what is real, CAptIViTY, not being able to escape~) *cough* This would've been done sooner, but i was lurned away from the computer by the prospect of watching Wipeout while eating S'mores. Fun times. **

**Stay As Awesome As Prussia!**

**-Prussianess**


	4. A Vivid Dream: North Italy

**AN: Rejoice, REJOICE! This chapter is finally done! Please don't kill me! I had this done for a week but it took ****_forever_**** to type! Merry Christmas~! **

**Disclaimer: Wish as I might, I do not own Hetalia. Romano's rainbow coated vocabulary. HetaOni. **

* * *

Feliciano Vargas felt . . . empty. He always thought that he was missing something—or someone—very important. When he brought up this issue to his parents, they always asked the same two questions; did you loose something or did you break up with someone? While both of the options were very possible, considering Feliciano was very forgetful and a flirt, neither of them were the case. The feeling of emptiness was _very_ strong. It felt like someone important was missing; someone like a relative, or more specifically, a brother. These feelings confused Feliciano for he didn't have a brother. He _felt_ like he did, but he _knew_ that he didn't . . . or was it the other way around?

It's funny. The more days that pass, the more Feliciano becomes less sure about himself. He frequently had these dreams—or memories?—about many people he hasn't met. In these dreams, he can only watch as he interacts with these people, he couldn't control himself, he could only wonder who these people are and how he knew them. The dreams usually focused on two people; a tall, stoic, muscular, German man and a young man that looks nearly exactly like himself.

* * *

A small Feliciano was standing in the middle of a road. He had on a white, poofy, lacey, light green maids dress with an equally as poofy and lacey white apron. His auburn hair was pulled back with a light yellow bandana, with only his bangs and odd hair curl sticking out. It never really occurred to him how odd it was for him to be wearing girl's clothes. Miss Hungary gave him the dresses and he had to accept them. It never occurred to him that everyone, including the boy he loved, thought that he was a girl. It never occurred to him that that boy would have to leave . . .

Feliciano looked up to see another boy his age. He was dressed in black robes, and a large black hat with a golden trim. His bright blue eye were wide in shock, he clutched tightly to the pack he was carrying. Feliciano didn't notice anything strange about him though, he ran up to him smiling happily.

"Good morning, Holy Rome!" He said in his high-pitched voice. The sound of his voice seemed to break Holy Rome out of his shock.

"S-stop!" He yelled, causing Feliciano to stop dead in his tracks.

"H-huh?" Feliciano asked, confused. Holy Rome frowned.

"Why do you run when I chase you, and yet chase me when _I _run?"

"Holy Rome . . ." Said empire suddenly looked very nervous and . . . sad?

"Listen, Italy. There's one thing I need to tell you." Feliciano—no, Italy—noticed the people in armor leaving the property. Italy was still confused. Holy Rome continued to speak. "I-I'm sorry about everything. I have to leave, so that you can feel at ease." He looked down, frowning deeply. This shocked the young Nation.

"Wh-what do you mean?" _You're leaving?_

"I mean exactly what I said." Two armored men walked up to the Nations.

"Holy Rome," One of them said. "We'd better get going."

"Okay," He turned back to Italy. "See you then. Take care." He started to walk away with the other men. Italy's eyes began to burn.

"Are . . . are you really leaving?" He whispered. '_No . . . I don't want you to go, Holy Rome.' _Holy Rome continued to walk away and Italy proceeded to freak out. He started to wave his arms away while tears beaded up in his eyes. "Wait! Wait! Oh no! What should I do? HOLY ROME!" He shouted, the tears spilling out of his eyes. The empire turned around. Italy started to freak out again. _'Now what? I have to give him something, but what?!' _He noticed the push broom in his hands. '_Was that always there? Oh well . . . It's better than nothing, either this or my underwear or something like that.' _

"I-I'll give this to you." He held the broom out. "Think . . . think of it as me and take it with you, Holy Rome." Holy Rome was confused.

"A push broom . . . why are you giving me such a thing . . .?" He trailed off. His eyes gained a faraway look as he remembered all of the times he saw the small maid use it. "Italy." Holy Rome smiled softly as he walked up to the small boy and took the broom. "Thank you. I accept your feelings." Holy Rome stared at Italy. "Well then, I'll give you something too. What do people do for someone they like at your house?"

"K-kiss, I think." Italy innocently replied.

"I-I see." Holy Rome leaned closer. He hesitated, blushing brightly he continued. "I've loved you for a very long time, since the 10th century, at least." He continued to learn forward until their lips met. They both pulled away, now holding each other's hands, and blushing.

"R-really?" Italy asked.

"Yes, really." Holy Rome answered seriously. "I'm not lying." Italy smiled at that.

"I'm happy to hear that." Holy Rome smiled softly.

"W-well. See you, Italy. When the war is over I'll definitely come to see you!" He then started to walk away again, only this time Italy made no move to stop him.

"O-okay." Italy stuttered when he realized that Holy Rome was leaving again. "I'll be waiting. I'll be waiting for you." He then smiled even brighter if that was possible. "I'll make lots of sweets and wait for you." He paused for a second before he remembered something else. "Oh, and don't get injured or sick!" He started to get hysterical as Holy Rome neared the gate. "We'll see each other again for sure, okay? We will, okay? For sure, okay?" Holy Rome turned around to look back at the small Nation. Although his eyes were brimmed with tears, he smiled in a way that clearly said; _No matter what, I _will_ see you again. _

Holy Rome then left; little did Italy know that he would never come back. The scene melted and reformed.

* * *

An older Italy was sitting in a small, cramped box. A small crack in the wooden box let a small amount of light inside, enabling him to see and causing him to feel even more claustrophobic.

"Why did I choose to hide in a tomato box again?" Italy asked himself. "Oh well . . ." He smiled lightly. "Ve, at least no one would be able to find me~" He then heard a twig snap nearby him and he paled instantly. '_Why did I choose to hide in a tomato box?! I'm going to get caught, I'm going to get caught!' _The last line repeated on loop in his mind as the sound of footsteps grew closer. Then, suddenly, the sounds stopped. Italy allowed himself to sigh in relief.

"What's a box of tomatoes doing in the middle of the woods?" A deep voice outside questioned. Italy heard something tapped against the lid of the box and he involuntarily squeaked in fear.

"What the—?" Italy panicked, he had to think of something to make the man go away.

"C-ciao! I am the Box of Tomatoes Fairy! I have come here to become friends with you! Let's play together!" Italy squeaked out. Instantly he face-palmed himself. 'That's _the best I can come up with?' _He thought.

"There's someone inside." The voice outside said urgently. Italy freaked out even more.

"There's no one inside! Don't open it!" Italy was sweating now as he hugged his trusty white flag to his chest. The box creaked and groaned, and more light started to pour into the box as the lid was pried off. "S-stop it!" Italy's voice grew higher and more hysterical with every word. "What good would seeing my internal organs do?!" Too late.

"Show. Yourself." The voice outside grunted before the lid burst open, showering both men with bits of wood. Italy sat up and started to wave his white flag, tears streaming down his face.

"Ahh! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I am not a Box of Tomatoes Fairy! It was all lies! Lies! LIES!" Italy started to ramble in all of his hysteria while the man who opened the box stared at him in shock. "Seriously, please don't shoot me! I'll do anything so don't shoot! I'll do anything! I'll do anything, so please! I DON'T WANNA DIE!" He screamed as the man stood up. Italy noticed that he let go of his white flag, so he clasped his hands together as if he was praying. And really, he was.

"I'm a virgin, I won't be fun to shoot!" Italy was still rambling, but he wasn't as hysterical. He tried to give the man good reasons as to why he shouldn't be shot. "I'm really sorry! I'm a good Italian. You're German, right? I have relatives in Bayern, so please don't shoot!" Okay, these weren't good reasons, but if you were in a life or death situation _you'd_ ramble too. "I'll do anything! I'll do anything!" Italy screamed as he was picked up from the back of his beige uniform and he began to sob. "I just want to have tasty pasta one last time! Pasta! Pasta!" Italy started to sob harder. The man holding him clearly didn't know what to do.

"Let me ask you a question." He said uncomfortably. Instantly Italy stopped crying. '_That voice . . . it was so familiar. It couldn't be . . .' _Italy opened his eyes. Standing over him was a tall, muscular man. He was wearing a green military uniform with a rifle slung over his back. His light blonde hair was slicked back and his eyes were now an icy blue, but there was no doubt about it. Holy Rome . . . he came back. The man continued to speak, slightly confused as to why the Italian calmed down so quickly. "Are you my enemy, the descendant of Rome?" He said more confidently.

Italy swore that he heard his own heart break. This wasn't Holy Rome, he was different. He was German . . . he was Germany. But when Italy stared into the Germans eyes, he could see the long dead empire looking back at him. Italy smiled. Whether he knew it or not, Holy Rome has finally found him again. The scene melted away and reformed.

* * *

It was rainy, dark, and dreary. Italy was panting hard, as if he had been running. Clutched tightly in his hand was a book and his once bright blue military uniform was now beaten, torn, and covered with . . . tomato sauce? . . . No. His uniform was covered with blood. His heart was beating fast and tears started to bead up in his eyes. He couldn't think clearly, but one thought played on loop in his head, '_I'm alone, I'm all alone.' _

"I got out." Italy whispered to himself as he trudged away from the mansion behind him. He suddenly stopped, all of the depression and shock started to settle in. He looked up into the stormy sky as his tears began to stream down his face. "I'm the only one who survived, the only one who got out . . . I shouldn't have been able to get out . . ." His voice grew louder and more hysterical with each sentence. "What the hell? This doesn't make any sense! Out of everyone, I'm the only one left?" Italy started shaking as he looked at the ground, the rain washing away every tear that he shed. "What the hell? What the hell?!"

Italy heard the door slam open behind him and he turned around to see what was going on. His eyes widened when he saw the . . . _creature_ in front of him. It was huge, a giant, its body the most disgusting shade of grey that Italy has ever seen. Its head was nearly as large as its body, its mouth of soaked with blood, and its eyes were large, merciless, black pits of misery and despair. Through the eyes Italy saw hell and all of its horrors. The eyes would haunt Italy for the rest of his life.

Italy scrambled backwards, nearly losing his balance in the process. The creature just watched, its obsidian eyes gleaming with a sadistic glee. Italy turned heel and sprinted towards the gate that would separate him from this dreaded mansion. He made it to the foot of the gate when something inside him snapped, a wave of insanity washed over him. Italy stopped in front of the gate, the creature only a couple strides behind him. Italy grinded his teeth and clenched his hands into fists.

"STOP!" He screamed in the most serious and commanding voice that he has ever heard come out of him. Having no time to marvel, Italy slowly turned around. The creature was standing there, it almost looked confused. Italy took a deep, shuddering breath and glared at the creature in front of him.

"I won right? You couldn't catch me; you lost!" He held his hands out in front of him and laughed a high pitched hysterical laugh as he let the insanity take over him. "The moment I get out of here you lose! There's nothing that you can do from that distance!" Italy chuckled darkly. "When I get out this place won't be the same, you know! As a Nation, I will destroy this place!" Italy grinned like a madman when he imagined the mansion burning to the ground. Italy lowered his voice and put a darker edge to it.

"Doesn't that make you frustrated? Huh? I _am_ your last trophy after all. You lost to the guy whose only redeeming feature is his fast feet!" Italy screamed out the last sentence, pouring all of the insanity into it. He was able to think clearer now, he frowned. The gravity of what happened in the mansion finally settled in, he finally _truly_ realized just how alone he was. He finally realized that everyone died protecting _him._ They died protecting the useless little Italian whose best weapon was a white flag. He couldn't bear it.

" . . . . . . Back . . ." He whispered as his hand clenched the bloodstained black journal in his left hand. "Take us back!" He voice regained the hard edge, although there was no insanity left in it. This was real. "You can take us back in this warped space can't you? If you do that, why don't you eat me first? If you can catch me that is." Italy glared at the creature and swept his arm towards it. "GO back!"

A blinding white light enveloped the scene.

Italy opened his eyes, only to find himself back at the World Conference. He felt like he could cry out in joy, in fact, he almost did. But then he felt something lying on his lap. He looked down, only to see the bloodstained, black journal. Italy gingerly picked it up and opened it to the front page. Scribbled on the contract sign in blood red ink was the name, _Italy Veneziano. _ Italy closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with determination. He knew now what he must do. He is _not_ going to let anyone die again. The scene melted away and reformed.

* * *

Italy was standing in what looked like a dungeon; a long dark hallway made of stone. On his left was an opening for another hallway, but it was blocked by cell doors. Italy looked back to the room he just left and sighed.

"They got really mad at me." He said dejectedly. "Germany's face was so scary . . . straight out of a nightmare." Italy shuddered slightly before walking forward. Italy shrieked as a high-pitched ringing noise echoed throughout the hallway. "Germanyyy! Japaaaaan!" He abruptly stopped screaming and sighed again. "Oh, right, they're not here." The ringing continued for a minute before Italy realized that it was his cell phone. He took the object out of his pocket and stared at it like it just fell from outer space.

"My phone? Scary . . . who is it? And how can they call me, anyway?" He placed the phone to his ear. "What?!" He yelled before catching himself. "Um! Roma—" A harsh, unpleasant, but _extremely_ familiar voice cut him off.

_"You IDIOT! What took you so fucking long to answer, god damn it?!" _A voice with a Southern Italian accent yelled. Italy cringed slightly at the colorful language, but he smiled nonetheless.

"What?! What? It's true?! It's really you?! How? You _are_ Romano, aren't you?" Italy heard an exasperated sigh on the other end.

_"Of course it's me! Ack, wait—Spain! You can't take my phone, you bastard! Give it back!" _

"Spain too?!" Italy thought that he'd burst with happiness, but he was also greatly confused. "It can't be true . . . why?"

_"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Now, listen Veneziano— . . . ? Are you crying?" _Romano's voice swiftly morphed from anger to worry. One emotion remained the same though; annoyance. Italy felt his cheek; he didn't even realize that he was crying. The steady stream of tears proved otherwise. He wasn't crying out of sadness though. He was happy, he hasn't been this happy in a very, very long time.

"I-It's just that I'm so happy!" Italy's smile slipped into a frown. It seems like that's all he's been doing recently; frowning. He knew what he must ask of Romano. He just didn't know how he could possibly say it. "Hey, Romano. Do . . ." Italy swallowed thickly. He had to force himself to ask the rest of the heart-breaking question. "Do you think that you can fill in for me at work tomorrow?"

_"Huh?" _

"Tomorrow," Italy continued. "And the day after tomorrow and forever and ever . . . can you?" There was a long, suspenseful pause.

_" . . . No." _Romano said with absolute certainty, surprising the crying Italian.

"Romano—" Italy tried to reason before he was cut off by an even more irritated Romano.

_"It's your job. Just get your ass back here and fucking take care of it yourself." _The static in the phone became louder and louder. _"An . . . real . . . idiot . . . well . . . ly . . ." _

"Romano?! I can't hear you! Hello!" There was a long, dead tone. Italy stared sadly at the phone in his hand. "It got cut off." He mumbled before smiling slightly. "Hehe, their voices. It's been so long . . . I wish I could go home . . ."

Italy continued to walk through the dungeon-like hallway, pretending that the phone call didn't happen. He walked down the hallway and into a decent sized room. Like the rest of the place the walls and floor were made of stone, there was a large, wooden table, bookshelves, and a cupboard. There was nothing else and it seemed like a dead end. But Italy continued to walk through the room until he reached the corner. He pushed gently on a slightly discolored portion of the wall, revealing a hidden door.

Italy walked into _another_ dungeon-like hallway. He walked down the hallway and turned the corner in a daze as he thought to himself. He picked up the pace, warily walked around a large hole in the wall, and turned the last corner . . . only to gasp in shock. He quickly ran up to the wall facing him and weakly touched the surface.

"No." He whispered before sighing dejectedly. That was another thing he did now; sighing. "It isn't here after all. Where did I hide it again? Was it on the 3rd floor, maybe?" Italy shook his head. "Maybe not. Ugh, I'm really anxious now. But if I calm down, I'll remember." He reassured himself. "There was one that I hid with America. And then . . . um . . ." As Italy tried to remember, he heard a voice that he thought he'd never hear again.

"I found you, Veneziano!"

". . . What?" Italy slowly looked up the wall, past the burnt ladder, and he saw two people he thought he'd never see again.

One of them was bent over the hole he was staring down, hands resting on his knees. He had short, slightly curly, chocolate brown hair, a tan complexion, and bright emerald green eyes. He wore a tan WWII style military uniform lacking the jacket and with a brown bow instead of a tie. He smiled brightly and waved when he noticed that Italy was looking at him; cheeriness seemed to ooze off of this guy. The young man sitting next to him was a stark contrast with that scowl on his face. The first thing that Italy noticed about him was that he looked nearly exactly like him. He had more of an olive tone to his skin, his dark brown hair was parted to the side and his odd hair curl was sticking out in the opposite direction of Italy's, and his eyes were more of a dark green than a brown**(1)**. But, besides those few changes, they were nearly identical! He was on his knees and peering down the hole. Italy was beyond shocked.

"Ro—Wh-why?!" Romano simply rolled his eyes.

"Good thing the front door wasn't opening." The twin, Romano, huffed in his Southern Italian accent. "So I was just loitering around here. I finally found you! What the hell have you been up too?" The cheery guy suddenly spoke up.

"Ita!" He yelled happily, revealing a Spanish accent. "Thank God! You can't stay there all alone. Where are the other guys?"

Italy really didn't know how to respond. "What-what are you doing here?! We didn't ask you to come here!" Romano simply ignored him.

"What did you do with the clocks? Did you break all of them?!"

Italy made a noise of surprise. "How-how did you know about that?"

"Answer me!" Romano snapped. "Did you break the last clock?!" Italy shook his head in denial.

"It can't be . . . You weren't supposed to know about that . . . What are you even doing here in the first place?" The cheery man smirked slightly.

"Roma, I know you're happy to see him, but don't get to excited."

"Shut up, Tomato Bastard!" Romano glared at the man, who is now known as 'Tomato Bastard'**(2)**. Romano quickly looked down the hole and shouting to Italy.

"Veneziano! I'm coming there right now, so don't move!" He was about to make his way down before Italy screamed.

"NO! Don't come down here, no matter what! Go home! What are you even doing here?! How-how did you even know?!"

" . . . . Try saying my name." Romano responded with a surprisingly soft tone to his voice. Italy didn't know what was going on, but he did as he was told.

"R-Romano . . ."

"No!" Romano snapped. "Say my full name."

" . . . Italy. Italy Roma . . . no . . ." Italy said with a slow realization.

"Yeah, that's right. I'm Italy, too! I don't know everything you remember, but I do plan on carrying at least a little of that weight on my shoulders. You haven't been alone all this time!" He then smiled slightly. "You've broken quite a few clocks, haven't you?"

"Y-yes . . . but . . ."

"The flow of time got fixed." Tomato Bastard said. "That's why we were finally able to get here. Not just us, you know? The others are coming to help you guys."

"I fiiiiinally found you." Romano groaned. "I've been trying to find you for ages—couldn't find you—the phone wouldn't work, and for some time I felt these electrical shocks, like half of me disappeared, every single time—"

"You—IDIOT!" Italy cut him off before looking down. Tears started to form in his eyes. _'I wasn't able to bear it.' _He thought. _'That's why several of my memories flowed to Romano and he came looking for us. Why did they have to come here . . .? Why? Even if something happens to me, if my brother is here . . . what would happen to Romano? No. I've already had too much of the first time and I'm getting confused. I have no idea what I should do.' _

"Veneziano?" Romano asked, worried for his brother. Italy shook his head slowly as he stepped away from the two Nations.

"I-I'm sorry Romano, Spain. I have to go." _'I don't want you to get hurt . . . or worse.' _Italy turned away from them. "I'm sorry, but . . . just go home!" Italy then ran away, tears spilling from his eyes. The last thing that he heard before the scene melted away was Romano's desperate cry.

"Ack! You BASTARD! Wait!"

The scene melted away, it didn't reform. As Italy drifted in that limbo between consciousness and sleep, a voice that sounded so much like his own spoke to him.

_Your death was not an accident . . . and the next time, it will be unavoidable. _

* * *

Feliciano's eyes snapped open. He was panting, sweating, and his covers were on the other side of the room. He sighed a quiet 'Ve~' as he forced himself out of his warm bed and trudged into the bathroom. Feliciano couldn't help but think about the dream he had as he washed his face with cold water. _'Ve . . . it was much more . . . intense than the others. Why were those other people calling themselves countries? How did they know me, how did _I _know _them_? Who's Romano? Who's Germany? What did that voice mean, _my death was not an accident_? I mean, I'm still alive . . . aren't I?' _

Questions continued to run through Feliciano's head as he dried his face off. He looked up at the mirror, and froze at what he saw. His reflection didn't look like him.

The reflection had a tanner skin tone, darker auburn hair, and menacing light violet eyes. It wore a light brown WWII military uniform and a black hat with a purple tuft of fur hanging from it. Instead of copying the shocked expression Feliciano _knew_ he had on, the reflection smirked at him with a vicious glint in its eyes. Being the good little Italian that he is, Feliciano naturally bolted out of the room.

The reflection glanced in the direction where the Italian ran.

"One down, the rest to go."

* * *

**(1) I like Romano with green eyes. Deal with it. **

**(2) Remember, Feliciano doesn't know who any of these people are. Italy does. Tomato Bastard is as close as Feliciano got to a name for Spain. And it was funny to type xD **

**AN: Review! Reviews give you new chapters, and they give me inspiration to creat new chapters. Complete the Circle of Fanfiction. (and I still want to make a Flying Mint Plot Bunny ;3) **

**DUN. DUN. DUN. Yes, there will be 2P's. Be afraid. Be very afraid. This is the last Vivid Dream chapter. The next chapter would focus of America. Each person has a special role in this story and I have way too many ideas to put in here. It doesn't take long to write, it just takes forever to type these things. So please bear with me, wait patiently, and never give up hope on this story! I will finish it. No matter what. **

**Stay as awesome as Prussia!**

**-Prussianess**


	5. Believing In The Lie

**AN: I'm back~ Did'ya miss me?! :D No? I don't care! I'm back! I regret to inform my faithful little lambs that this chapter is shorter than most. I never even expected the other chapters to be so long. I have a feeling that there's going to be a trend...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. If i did...*laughs evily* If I did...**

* * *

**Eyes That Look Too Old. Eyes That Look Too Young.**

Alfred sighed as he opened the door to the fast food place he worked in. He was right with his prediction; today was _not_ a good day. Usually the morning can tell you what the rest of the day was going to be like. Well, this morning Alfred face-planted getting out of bed, spilled hot coffee all over himself, and accidentally stepped on the neighborhood cat. Yep, _not_ a good day.

Alfred hastily pinned his nametag on as he made his way to the cash register. Another perfectly normal day . . . oh how wrong he was.

Alfred stared at the clock from the register. It was already 12:58. In two more minutes his shift would be over and he'd only have to wait for the next person to come and take over. He closed his eyes and sighed. It was a busy day and Alfred just wanted to go home. He opened his eyes and sighed as he saw a person approach the register.

"Just one left . . ." He whispered to himself before putting on a fake, cheery smile. "Hello! What would you like to . . ." Alfred's words died in his throat as he looked at the man. There was just something so _familiar_ about him, and not just because he looked so similar to Alfred. They were practically twins, only a few easily missed differences separated the two.

The man was more petite than Alfred; while Alfred was built more like a high school jock, the stranger was skinny and a bit lanky. The stranger's hair reached his shoulders; it had more of a golden shade of blonde and a defiant curly piece of hair that stuck out from the rest. Alfred couldn't help but sympathize; his cowlick gave him enough trouble without it curling like that. He had a pale complexion, almost as if he never left the house and he wore glasses with oval shaped lenses. Alfred made the mistake of looking into the stranger's eyes.

They were violet, an extremely rare eye color what that wasn't what bothered Alfred. The stranger's eyes were old; they were very, very old. Imagine a child; their eyes are wide and pure. Full of childhood innocence and sparkling with the optimism that a child should always have. Now imagine an adult; their eyes are narrowed and hard. All of the innocence gone and the sparkle of optimism replace with cold, harsh reality. They are eyes that have seen much. Now multiply the adults eyes by one thousand and you should have a good idea what the stranger's eyes looked like. Alfred couldn't help but think about the kind of crap happened to the stranger for him to have eyes like that.

Alfred's train of thought crashed when the stranger coughed slightly. Alfred snapped out of his observations and smiled sheepishly at the man. The stranger wasn't paying attention though and Alfred could tell that he was thinking of something else. The man's face was a mask of shock disbelief, and sadness. Alfred felt something he had never felt before; a brotherly protectiveness. Why, though, he felt it for a total stranger was beyond him.

"Hey, dude, you okay?" He asked, concerned. The stranger merely shook his head, whispered something that Alfred couldn't make out, and ran out of the restaurant. Alfred resisted the urge to call out for him; he didn't even know who he was! . . . But then, why did it feel like he knew him? Alfred shook his head and walked out of the store as soon as his replacement appeared.

_'I'm just tired.'_ Alfred thought to himself as he walked to his car. _'I barely got any sleep last night. I just need to go home and take a nap. Maybe . . . just _maybe_ this day would turn out normal._'

**(Canada POV)**

Canada was having second thoughts as he walked through the doors of the fast food place. He just, felt something _off_ about the place. As a Nation, Canada was able to sense another Nation. They gave off a certain, 'aura' as some people would call it. It felt as if billions of people were standing in one place, and yet it also felt like there was just one person standing there as well. It's confusing to say exactly what it felt like; it was different for every Nation. The point was that he felt it as he walked past the store. It was extremely faint and flickering, but it was enough to pique his interest and curiosity.

As soon as Canada set foot inside the building, the aura intensified. It was still faint, but now it felt more constant. _'Something's going on.' _Canada thought as he walked up to the register. He didn't realize who was there until he heard that obnoxiously loud voice he thought he'd never hear again.

"Hello! What would you like to . . ." He heard America say. Violet eyes met a bright cornflower blue; one pair widened in shock, the other glazed over slightly.

Canada frowned in confusion. Didn't America recognize him? Canada felt like he could cry and laugh at the same time. All he wanted to do was hug him and take him back to the others. It's been years, decades, since he . . . died. Now America was right in front of him! . . . But there was nothing there. All emotion was wiped from Canada's face as he examined his brother further.

Everything was the same, except for a few unimportant and yet so very important things. What Canada noticed first was that America's glasses were gone. Sure, he didn't need them to see, but they represented Texas. He wouldn't have them off unless that state wasn't part of the Union anymore. That was the first thing that told Canada that something was wrong. There was also a name tag on America's chest. On it read in bold, neat lettering was **Alfred Jones**. Canada's eyebrows furrowed at that. That was a human name, why was he using that? Why was he even here? Then Canada noticed the American's most alarming feature. His eyes.

They were young, innocent. Nothing like the eyes Canada would see on a daily basis; _nothing_ like the eyes of a Nation. Not even _Liechtenstein_ had eyes like this and she was probably the most innocent Nation out there. These weren't the eyes of a 300-something year old Nation. These were the eyes of a human; a human who _should_ be his brother. Canada noticed that America was staring at him . . . but he also wasn't. He was in deep thought . . . or perhaps shock? Canada couldn't help but cough slightly, all of this was just too much, and he needed to release all of the pain he was feeling at the moment. This whole thing was just a fluke! Alfred Jones was just a look alike. America was dead and he wasn't coming back. Canada's thoughts were dashed as Alfred spoke.

_"Hey dude, you okay?"_

Canada's widened slightly as he looked into Alfred's eyes. For a second, one brief second, Canada saw America. For a second his eyes were ancient. For one second, his brother was back. Canada could only shake his head and take a step backwards. He stared right into America's eyes.

"You may not know who you are, who I am, eh? But I found you . . . I found you." He knew that America wouldn't hear him, no one ever does, he just mostly said that to reassure himself. Not wanting to look at America's confused face anymore, Canada fled from the fast food place. Canada didn't hear America call for him, but it was expected, he didn't even know who he was! As soon as Canada was out of the building he instantly ran to his car.

When the door was locked and his breath was caught, the cell phone was brought out. Fingers moved with blinding speed as Canada typed the number of a Nation he never thought he'd have to call.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

_"Hullo?"_

"England, we need to talk."

* * *

**AN: My heart goes out to Charlotte and Rashka and all of her friends. Remember my message and I'll pray for you to get through this troubled time. **

**Did'ya like it? I hope so! I'm sick and tired of only posting every other month, so I'm going to try to update sometime this month! Preferably next week. But we all know that nothing ever works out as planned. So, this chapter had some important stuff in it, also, sorry for the cliffie. Things will be explained in the other chapters. I hate being straight forward ;3 Also, I have recentally been mauled by a Plot Bunny. I have begun to write a new story. I know...you're all planning various ways to kill me right now. I have such vicious little lambs, don't I? Don't worry though, it won't get /too/ much in the way of this story. If any of you are interested, it's going to be a Fantasy AU~! So be sure to look out for it! Remember to review, my vicious, lovely little lambs and have a nice day!**

**Continue to be as Awesome as Prussia, **

**-Prussianess~**


	6. A New Life?

**AN: I updated in the same month! :D A new record! Whoop! Anyway, another Gilbert chapter~ Fun! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Sadly. Gilberts colorful (but not as colorful as Romas) mouth, confusion, human personalities, and a crap ton of dialog and not much action. **

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This was a small town. A _very_ small town. Everyone knew everyone; you couldn't keep a secret here. There were benefits of being so small and detached from the rest of the country. One of them was that they were peaceful. They didn't worry about the problems this country had, there were no TVs to give them the news every day. Over all, they were peaceful and, because there was no electronics to occupy them, the children played outside every day. But there were many downsides of being so detached from the rest of the world. They were ignorant, superstitious, and closed minded. To many this wouldn't be a big problem, but to one teenager this ruined his life.

There were disadvantages to being albino. Your skin isn't protected from the UV rays so you had a higher chance of burning to a crisp and getting skin cancer. Your eyes aren't protected either, the lack of pigment in the iris lets sunlight go directly to your retina, causing you to have poor vision and possibly some eye defects. The worst problem though, especially in an environment like this, is that you become a target. The people here are ignorant, superstitious, and closed minded; they took one look at Gilbert Beilschmidt and thought him to be a type of demon. It took almost all of his life to convince them otherwise.

Still, they were closed minded. Gilbert became of symbol of bad luck in the community. At school he was bullied, nobody ever came to help him as the older students beat him. At home he was ignored, his own parents refusing to acknowledge that he was there. He was lucky to get his own room. Gilbert was self conscious after all of this treatment. He had to convince himself that there was nothing wrong with him, there were others like him right? This is where ignorance is a problem, he just didn't know. He would say that he was awesome and generally be narcissistic, but it was all an act. He just said all of that stuff to convince _himself_ that he was normal. Nothing worked. After 18 years of this treatment, Gilbert had enough. He ran away, and never looked back.

"Shit!" The word echoed off of the trees as the young albino tripped over an overgrown tree root. He quickly used his hands to block his fall, not caring about the sharp rocks and sticks on the forest floor. His hands' getting wounded was better than his precious face. His used his now scratched hands to push himself off of the ground; he turned to face the tree root, cussed it out, and continued walking. He didn't know where he was going; he just wanted to be away from the demon town he called home for 18 years.

"I was too awesome for that place to handle." He said quietly to himself, trying to help himself feel better. It didn't work; the lie was too obvious for him to accept, even if it did come from himself. He just shouldered his black duffel bag and continued to walk. He knew this forest like the back of his hand. He would go here every weekend to escape, to be by himself for a while. He never thought to run though; he didn't even know where the idea came from. He was just lying in his bed and he heard a voice in his head, a woman's voice.

_"You're too awesome to put up with this crap. You're not the Prussia I know, he would run. Just run. You'll see me soon." _

The voice never left his head, he took the advice. He ran, but he was unsure of where to go. Gilbert thought that the voice would come back and help, but it didn't. Why he even trusted the voice in the first place was beyond him, there was just something about it that seemed so familiar. It was like an old friend, or enemy, he wasn't sure which. He trusted the voice, but that didn't keep him from questioning his sanity.

"Maybe I _am _a demon." Gilbert mused to himself as he jumped over a log. "Who else would here a voice in their head?"

_"Special people." _

Gilbert paused. The hell was that? Did the voice just talk back to him? Gilbert looked around; there was no one else in the forest, just him. He paused to question his sanity again before talking back to the voice.

"What do you mean, 'special'? Like, crazy?" He grumbled for continuing his trek through the forest.

_"No, I mean special, special as in better than normal." _

"Ha, why would you say that? Because I'm a freak?" Gilbert pushed some branches out of the way, only to have them swing back and hit him in the back of the head. "Fuck!" The voice snorted, Gilbert could hear the laughter in her voice.

_"Idiot. Why would _you_ think that you're a freak? It's supposed to me my job to say that." _

"Gee, thanks." Gil said sarcastically. "What a boost to my low self esteem." He pushed himself off of the ground and continued to walk, shouldering his duffel bag again. The voice laughed and talked back jokingly.

_"Low self esteem? Prussia, are you okay? Don't have a fever or anything?" _

"Why are you calling me 'Prussia'? My name's Gilbert. You're in my head; you should know simple facts like that." Gilbert could hear the frown in the woman's voice as she talked ack.

_"Gilbert? Stupid name, why would you start calling yourself that?" _

Gilbert pushed through a few more branches and landed into a clearing. He sat on a log and dug through the duffel bag. "Who are you to make fun of my name? Who the hell are you anyway? Why are you in my god damned head anyway? I actually want you to answer these questions."

_"You . . . you don't recognized my voice? I've known you for most of my life . . . the least you could do is know who I am when I call . . ." _

"Stop dancing around my questions!" Gilbert yelled. "Who the hell are you and why are you in my head?!" Gilbert was shocked at that outburst; he was never that loud or impatient before.

_"Hm, that sounds like the Prussia I know. I guess you didn't regain your memories yet, odd. You should've by now . . . I guess I'll answer your questions. First off, I'm not in your head. I'm calling you. Some Nations gain this ability if they've known someone long enough. I tap into your brainwaves and communicate with you with my thoughts. I was just able to regain this ability a couple days ago, you should have gotten your memories back for me to do this . . . "_

"You're only giving me more questions!" Gilbert yelled again, fishing out a granola bar from his bag. "What's a Nation, what's this have to do with me, and who are you?"

_"I . . . . . I'm losing connection. . . . . Can't . . . . Do . . . this long. My name's . . . . I can't hold . . . . . much longer. . . . . . . . Good luck." _

"WAIT!" Gilbert yelled. "I only just found someone to talk to! Don't leave!" The voice faded away, it sounded like she was fighting against the static that was building up. For one second there was a burst of clarity and Gilbert got her last message.

_"Look out for Gilbird." _

"W-what's that supposed to mean?" Gilbert asked weakly. He finally found someone that knew about him, and she slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. He looked at the half eaten granola bar in his hand; he wasn't hungry anymore so he threw it on the ground. It's funny how someone could be so hungry and then lose his appetite in a few seconds. Wait . . . hungry. Hungry. Hungary.

"Hungary," Gilbert breathed, that's who he was talking to! He smiled; at least he had her name. But what did she mean by Gilbird? Gilbert picked himself up and grabbed the duffel bag. He looked at the half eaten granola bar on the ground and decided to leave it there. More food for the animals. He walked to the edge of the clearing and carefully moved branches out of the way. He was about to walk further when he heard a small chirp.

He turned around, curiosity overcoming him, he wasn't sure why though. It was just an ordinary bird chirping. He was a small yellow, puff of a bird standing on top of the granola bar. Gilbert walked over to it and knelt down in front of it. There was something about this small bird that was familiar. More so than Hungary's voice.

"Hey, little guy." Gilbert said softly. The bird chirped happily and flew onto his head. Gilbert laughed as it tried to make a nest out of his hair. He carefully grabbed the bird and set it onto the floor. The bird gave an urgent cheep, it looked at Gilbert with strangely alert eyes. It was almost as if it was trying to talk to him. "I don't speak bird." Gilbert laughed as the bird puffed up in annoyance.

"Piyo!" The bird chirped the loudest it has chirped. Something clicked in Gilbert's mind as he heard the unique chirp.

"Gilbird?!" The bird nodded in satisfaction. It flew towards the edge of the clearing and looked back at Gilbert, urging him to follow. Gilbert scrambled up from the ground and ran towards the bird.

"Where are you leading me?" He asked jokingly.

"Piyo." Gilberts eyes widened as he was able to understand what that chirp meant. _A new life_. The bird flew into the trees and Gilbert quickly followed.

Gilbert followed the bird into the unknown.

Gilbert followed the bird into a new life.

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**AN: Meh, I'm iffy about this chapter. I had to rewrite it a ton of times and this is the best I can get. The reason why Gil's slightly OOC is that he isn't Prussia. He's practically a different character. So yeah. Im sorry if I confused you with the Hungary dialog, trust me, I'm confused too... Please review, they help updates and overall story quality~ Tell me if I made any mistakes while you're at it! :3 **

**Say as Awesome as Prussia!**

**-Prussianess.**


	7. I don't want to remember

**AN: Hiya guys! Sorry for the longish wait, I'm pretty busy right now...unfortunately. So, I hope you like this chapter, because I certainly enjoyed writing it! ...I'm so screwed up. **

**Disclaimer: While these things are stupid, they are also important. I don't own Hetalia. *grabs stomach* Ouch. It hurts to face reality. **

* * *

Toris shivered as he left the warm comfort of the restaurant. He looked uncertainly at the inky black sky, wondering if it was a good idea to work overtime. He looked back longingly at the warm restaurant; he could always stay, it wasn't like anyone was waiting for him at home . . . Toris shook his head; he knew that he needed his sleep. He slowly started to trudge away from the building, wrapping his jacket closer around him with every step. The wind was freezing. It almost felt like knives cutting away at him, the steel icy cold. He snapped out of his thought with that simile, how did he even think of that? Why did it feel like he was actually in that position before?

Toris slowly shook his head again, lack of sleep played with the brain. He was probably just more tired than he thought he was before. The thought of him being tired caused him to think of sleep, the thought of sleep put an image of his bed in his mind, automatically Toris' eyes started to flutter shut. He forced his eyes open again and slapped his cheek to keep himself awake. As he continued to walk, Toris counted off the days where he had less than five hours of sleep. He soon ran out of fingers to count with in his hazy consciousness.

"The things I do for extra money . . . "He murmured to himself. It was true; he had plenty of jobs in order to gain those extra couple of bucks. In the morning he had a newspaper route, in the evening he bagged groceries, and in the evening he had his full time job as a waiter in the restaurant he just walked out of. The waiter job gave him enough money to rent the apartment he lived in, but what about all of the bills, clothes, and food? He was only eighteen and never even thought to go to college. He was lucky enough to be able to have his own home in the first place, what are a few days without sleep if it kept you your home? Speaking of his apartment, that's where his bedroom is. Bedroom . . . bed . . . sleep . . .

Shaking his head again, Toris made a turn into the alleyway leading to the back of the apartment building he lived in. Sure, it was dangerous walking into an alley at night; but who would mug an eighteen year old waiter with barely any money? What good would that do? He's done this a million times, why would something happen this one time? . . . . Toris should really learn not to tempt fate.

Toris heard an awful cracking noise as the steel toed boot connected with his chest. It probably hurt a lot too, but he was so battered and out of it that he didn't feel anything anymore. Consciousness drifted in and out; he was barely conscious in the first place. Toris vaguely felt his jacket be ripped off of him; he looked up to see one of his muggers shake it violently, probably hoping for cash to fall out of the pockets. Luckily for the thief, and unluckily for Toris, a wad of one dollar bills in tips fell out. The thief greedily picked it up, put on Toris' jacket and kicked Toris in the face before running off with this buddy.

Toris coughed up blood and continued to hack after the blood stopped coming up. He tried to stand up, but a blinding pain in his chest sent him back to the ground. He wasn't sure if it was the broken rib or the gash below his ribs. Luckily for him the gash wasn't deep enough to kill him right then and there, but he was stuck here now. On the ground in an alleyway at midnight, no jacket to keep him warm, no one to call. His vision started to go black, a calm feeling enveloped him. Sleep sounded nice. He'd just go to sleep for a moment before walking back to his apartment. Just a few minutes . . . what harm would it do? But a part of him didn't want him to sleep.

_No! _It screamed. _Don't sleep! _

'Why can't I sleep?' He asked that one part of him. 'Isn't sleep good?'

_Not this kind. _The voice warned. The voice was so different from his, and yet it was the same. It was calmer, wiser, older. But it was also more nervous, disturbed, tired. But it was firm. _Don't sleep. Sleep isn't always a good thing. _

'How can it not be good?'

_Don't you want to see your friends again? _

'What friends? There's just me.'

_Remember. _The voice started to fade. _Remember who you are. Remember who I am. You need to live, otherwise we are all doomed. _

Toris couldn't even think of a response. He was too tired. His vision started to fail him.

"_Liet!" _The word echoed in his mind. He constantly had dreams about that flamboyant blonde, Toris wondered what he was. Was he a person he used to know? Or just an imaginary friend his mind created to help him feel happier?

"_Liet!" _The voice echoed in his head again, why did hat one word make him feel so happy? It was almost as if that boy knew him his whole life. It certainly felt like it, why else would he feel this way about him? Toris blinked and it took nearly twenty seconds for him to build up the strength to open his eyes again. '_I'm just so tired.'_ He thought lazily.

"Liet! Omigawd, Liet!" An older teenager crouched in front of Toris. He looked exactly like the boy he would dream about. His straight, chin-length blonde hair was askew and his lazy green eyes were widened with shock and worry. Toris wasn't surprised though; he didn't fully register what he was seeing.

"Liet . . ." The teenager's face fell when he saw the lack of reaction on Toris's face. "_Please." _He whispered. His pleading fell upon deaf ears though; Toris's eyes already fluttered shut.

**~Toris's POV~ **

Darkness surrounded me, I couldn't see or feel. Was this death? I thought it would be more like sleep. It felt like loneliness. Images flashed before me, faster than I can comprehend. If this was death, I don't like it. _Not. At. All. _The images started to slow, they were still fast but I was now able to catch glimpses of them.

"_Liet? Why are you so scared?" _

" _. . ." _

"_You can, like, tell me anything y'know?"_

"_I don't . . . I can't talk about it." _

"_No worries! You can, like, tell me when you want!" _

It was that same boy, why was I so scared? Why can't I talk about it? Another image flashed by.

_I was lying in a bed with two other boys. One of them was quietly trying to hide his tears, while the other was outright sobbing. Even though I was crying myself, I needed to comfort him. _

_I didn't have any comforting words to say._

Pain, enveloped me. I don't know who those people are! Why am I being shown this? What's going on? Why . . . why am I in so much pain? Yet another memory flashed by.

_I felt my back, feeling the roughness of the scarred skin. The pain has long since gone, but the memories were still there. I started to shake, but I forced myself to calm down. It was over now . . . It was finally over. _

I grabbed my head, everything started to hurt. My heart was beating fast; my brain felt like it would explode with all of this information. Another image.

_I bit my tongue to keep myself from screaming. A white hot pain flashed before my back, again, and again, and again . . . there was no end to this. My mouth was filling with my own blood; if I kept this up I'd bite my tongue off. Another white hot pain hit my back. No, I'm not giving _him _the satisfaction of my screams._

I was crying now, on my knees. This isn't death. Death isn't painful. This is hell. All I felt was pain. I felt as if I was burning from the inside out. I couldn't talk, I couldn't scream. I could only watch, watch and feel the pain. Feel the pain of the images. These aren't memories; no one could live through this, let alone _me. _

_These _aren't _your memories. _

'Then whose are they?!'

_Mine. _

'Then why do I have to live through them?'

_Because they are also yours. _

'That doesn't make any sense!'

_Yeah, it doesn't. _The voice chuckled slightly. _Nothing really makes sense in the world. I am you, you are me, and yet we are totally different people. _

'But _why_? Why do I have to live through this hell?!'

_. . . Because, you need to remember. Remember, who I am. Who _you _are. _

'I don't want to remember!'

_But you must. _The voice was obviously sad. _If you didn't have to, I wouldn't do this to you. I'm so sorry. _

'Please! I don't want to remember! _PLEASE!' _

_I'm sorry . . . _

The voice faded away. I was left there, in silence. Nothing came up, there was just rest. . . . Another torrent of images flashed before me, pain tore me to pieces. _Please. _I couldn't do anything. _Please. _I could only watch. _PLEASE! _The images burned inside my head. _I don't want to remember! _

**Poland's POV~**

I watched as Liet went slack; pale. I couldn't help but have tears come to my eyes. He was my only friend. Well, the only one that stuck around for so long. I silently prayed for him. I couldn't do anything anymore.

_I knew that he wasn't dead._

His wounds started to heal. Slowly at first, but they gradually healed faster. I shakily knelt down beside him. His face was contorted with pain. He was muttering below his breath, so quiet that I couldn't hear. My tears continued to fall for him. He _needed _to remember. He _needed_ to. But even _I_ wish that he didn't have to. No one should have to go through this, _no one. _He was still human. Humans could never go through what a Nation has to go through. They would go mad. Being so close to death unleashed Liet's memories. They were all pouring into him right now. But too fast, _too fast. _

I grabbed his arm and loosely wrapped it around my neck. I used one arm to grab his waist and I slowly pulled Liet off of the ground. He was shaking; my heart broke seeing my friend like this. His unintelligible, silent mutterings became louder and clearer.

"I don't want to remember." He said softly. "_I don't want to remember."_ I winced.

"Like, none of us do." I whispered back. "_None of us do."_

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**AN: If you aren't crying...I'm actually okay with that. I can't cry either. :P I don't have much to put here besides my usual beg for reviews, so...yeah. See you next time, my little lambs~! **

**Also! There's no point following/favoriting a story if you're not going to review! Just saying~!**

**Stay as awesome as Prussia, **

**-Prussianess**


	8. Things to be told

**AN: Hi people! I'm back with another exciting chapter! Sorry for the very short chapter, but a lot of stuf happens to I'm sure you'll forgive me! ...You do forgive me. Right? ****_Right? _**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. And while I'm doing this, neither do I own marshmallows. I'm sorry, I wish I did too. **

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Feliciano glanced nervously at the mirror down the hallway. The normally elegant mirror now looked sinister. Feliciano felt that if he stepped too close, he'd be sucked into it. He'd be left at the mercy of whatever lurks inside the reflection. The thought scared him to death. He was already nervous around some things, now he was _frightened _around everything.

Seeing that person that _wasn't him_ in the mirror that one morning really affected him. _Nothing_ looks trustworthy anymore. For all he knows, a person could just materialize out of nowhere and kidnap him! Of course he didn't say anything to anyone. He didn't want people to think he was insane! _He wasn't crazy. _

Feliciano sucked in a deep breath and tried to set his mind straight. Having internal wars does nothing to help. He took a tentative step forwards. He mirror seemed ominous. It would suck him in. Feliciano sighed sharply at himself.

_'Stop being a baby! It's just a mirror!' _

He took one more step forward and was able to see his reflection. It looked just like him, but it also _didn't. _The differences weren't as drastic as that one morning, this was _definitely _him. But he looked scared. Very scared. His eyes were wide and his amber iris's were light and shiny from the tears that were starting to form. His hair looked dull and was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his skin was pale and sticky from the same substance. He looked like he was facing death.

He might have well been. Feliciano has never seen such pure evil until that morning. It's been a week and he's still wary of mirrors. Everyone thought that he was crazy, but he wasn't. _He wasn't crazy. He wasn't. _Feliciano reached his hand out carefully, hesitantly. His shaking fingers met with the cool, _solid _glass. A small laugh bubbled up in his throat. It was relieved, but hysterical all the same. Feliciano stood there stroking the mirror and laughing. He was happy. _Relieved. _The mirror won't swallow him. The mirror won't swallow him. _The mirror won't swallow—_

"Feli?" A nervous voice broke the silence. Feliciano turned around, looking more than a little crazed. An older woman stood down the hall. She was tall, elegant; dressed in a light yellow sun dress and white sandals. Her auburn hair was tied into a loose bun, her bright amber eyes were clouded with worry. She took a few steps forward until she was in front of Feliciano. She crouched until she was at eye level and put her hands on his shoulders. She stared into his eyes, making no attempt to hide the worry in hers. "Hun'? Are you okay?"

Feliciano stared at her, not comprehending what was happening. Tears started to flow from his eyes. He collapsed into the woman in front of him and began to sob. "M-mom." He choked, grabbing onto her dress like a scared child. Because that's exactly what he is. The lady, Feliciano's mom, stared at her boy in shock, she hugged him tightly.

"I-It's okay." She whispered into her son's hair, even though she didn't know what was going on. "It's okay, nothing bad's gonna happen. Your mom's here." She patted her sons back, wondering what could've happened to make her son break down like this. Her eyes turned fierce. "Your mom's here." _She's going to destroy whatever hurt her son. _

Feliciano Vargas looked down at his hands folded in his lap. He refused to say anything.

Alice Vargas rested her chin in the palm of her hand and stared at her son. She waited for him to speak.

Neither one is going anywhere anytime soon, though one of them _wanted _to.

_Tick tock. _

Feliciano started twiddling his thumbs, Alice was sitting calmly.

_Tick tock. _

Feliciano started to fidget, he wanted to leave.

_Tick tock. _

Why can't his mom just let the mirror thing go? She doesn't need to know anything!

_Tick tock. _

Feliciano snapped.

"Why do you want me to talk to you?! What do you want to know?" Feliciano yelled at his mother. She merely blinked before responding calmly.

"I want to know why you were staring at the mirror, why were you stroking the surface?"

"You don't need to know!"

"I need to know what made my baby sob into me."

Feli was silent. Nothing would change if he told her. She'd think he was insane! He didn't want anyone to think that he was crazy!

"You wouldn't understand." Feliciano muttered.

"What I _don't _understand is why you want talk to me. I remember the days when you would tell me everything"

"I'm not a little kid; you don't need to know anything!" Feliciano said with a fire in his eyes. Alice glared at him, the kind of glare only a mom can do.

"I need to know what's tearing apart my son." She said quietly.

They both sat in silence. Feliciano was becoming frustrated, while Alice was becoming worried. What could be so bad that he'd fight this hard? Against his mother. Feliciano took a deep, slightly shuddering breath, he rested his head on his arm and he closed his eyes. Alice scooted her chair closer to him and rubbed his back.

"Please tell me." She whispered. "I can help."

"You'd think I'm crazy . . ." Feliciano mumbled. Alice sighed.

"Feli, you're my son. Nothing you say would change how I think about you." Feliciano opened his eyes and Alice could see how tired they were. For a brief second they looked ancient. "Just tell me what's happening to you."

Feliciano bit his lip; he wasn't sure how his mom would react. The dreams were so . . . Feliciano couldn't find a word to describe them. Strange? Realistic? Disturbing? All of those words could apply. He didn't even know where to start. The mirror? Or the dreams? Almost as if reading his mind, Alice grabbed his hand and spoke softly.

"Start from the beginning. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

And so Feliciano did.

Neither of them noticed the figure in the mirror watching them with a scowl on his face.

* * *

_**DUN. DUN. DUN. **_**Did you like the ending? Did'ya? You did. Don't lie to me! ;3 Bad-ass moms FTW!**

**Next chapter: Meeting of the Nations. The storyline would actually move, **'s gonna start coming down. You better me excited!**

***insert beg for reviews here***

**Stay being as awesome as Prussia! **

**~Prussianess**


	9. Apologies and Plans for the Future

**I am So sorry for everyone who has read and enjoyed this story but-?!**

**Wait! Don't leave! That's not it! Come back! **

**Okay, I am ****_not_**** putting this story on hiatus. I feel as if I keep writing this the way I am...I'm going to drive it into a dead end. Or, the later chapters would suck compared to the earlier ones...actually, that's already happened. I dived head first into this story without a plan and that's why I'm writing this Authors Note right now. That's also why I'm not simply putting this story on Hiatus until I have inspiration to write. The truth is, I have plenty of inspiration. I just can't bring myself to put it into this story the way it is. **

**That's why I'm going to completely re-write this story. I love this idea too much to completely abandon it, but I feel that I haven't done this plot justice. **

**So, I am going to actually ****_plan_**** this story out, write the whole thing, ****_and then _****type it. That way, when I start posting this again, I would only have to worry about remembering to post every other week. Yes, this will take a while, but the story quality would boost as a result. I write stories for the quality and enjoyment of writing, not the reviews. **

**When I post the story again, it will be ****_completely _****different from how it's like now. The only thing that'll be the same is the main idea of the plot; a few Nation's die, they come back as humans, blah, blah, blah... So, that'll mean it would come back under a different name, different description, and possibly even different main characters. As soon as I start posting the new story, this one will be deleted. **

**It's best that you just forget that this story existed, seriously, it'll save you the anxiety of waiting for the next. The ****_least _****amount of time I've predicted it'll take was half a year. So yeah, just forget about this so that the time would fly by faster. **

**I am ****_truly _****sorry for any inconveniences caused by this, please don't leave flames in the comments about me being selfish. I'd truly be selfish if I didn't care about the direction of my story and give you guys a half-assed story in the end. **

**This may be the last you hear of me for several months (unless you follow my drabble series'; those will still be updated), so goodbye. Please don't hate be for this, I've thought long and hard and I feel that this is the best decision. **

**Yours Truly, Prussianess. **

**(I am ****_so sorry _****for any misspellings or any general mistakes in my writing, I don't have my contacts in and I could barely see my keyboard. If you wear gas-permeable lenses, ****_you will know why I don't want to put them in._****) **


End file.
